Turnabout Snapshots
by LemonSmoothie
Summary: A collection of short fics, mostly slice-of-life narratives. Ratings will vary, but none will go above T.
1. The Paths We Chose

Turnabout Snapshots

Author's Note: This fic is a collection of shorts. They will mostly be about the minor characters, though some major ones will show up. This collection will be spoiler-free in regards to Gyakuten Kenji 2.

Disclaimer: All characters from the Ace Attorney series are copyright Capcom. Fic made with no profit motive and out of love for the games. Original characters are mine.

Title: The Paths We Chose

Rating: K+

Characters: Clay Terran, Apollo Justice

Spoilers: Dual Destinies (minor)

Time: Clay and Apollo are in college at this point.

My name is Clay Terran. I'm a second year student at Besseldorf College majoring in Astronomy, with an emphasis on space exploration. After I finish my degree, I hope to join the staff at the Cosmos Space Center and become an astronaut.

Except there's a huge roadblock between now and there, namely Finals. The bane of every college student's existence.

At least I consider myself lucky in that I've got friends to study and be miserable with. For the moment, the three of us – myself and my friends Apollo Justice and Petro Glif – were sitting in a booth at the local Burger Meister, chowing down on burgers and fries. Our bags were by our sides, stuffed full of notes and textbooks. We planned to go to my house to study after dinner.

Apollo's been my best friend since junior high. He plans to go on to law school after college, and in terms of credit hours is way ahead of both Petro and me.

Petro's major is geology, with an emphasis on geophysics. Since geophysics requires some math and physics classes like the astronomy major, there's some overlap with my curriculum. This semester, we're both in Linear Algebra and Dynamics of Particles and Waves. Petro and Apollo are in the same Latin classes.

If I had to describe the three of us with one word each, I'd say I'm an optimist, Apollo a pragmatic, and Petro a pessimist.

Speaking of which…

"So when do lawyers sell their soul to the Devil?" Petro asked. "Upon graduation from law school?"

"Not all lawyers are bad!" Apollo insisted.

"That is true," Petro said. "But ever notice something? That something bad inevitably happens to the ones who aren't evil? Remember Phoenix Wright? You don't honestly believe a straight arrow like him forged evidence? It stinks of a set-up. But who'd be good enough to set him up and get away with it? An evil lawyer!"

"An…evil lawyer?" Apollo asked.

"Why else do you think he was disbarred so fast?" Petro said. "He was a threat, so he had to be neutralized."

"Conspiracy theories, Petro?" I asked. "Next you'll be claiming the moon landing was faked."

"How about this?" Petro continued. "Before Phoenix Wright, there was this amazing defense attorney. Many say he was the best there ever was. Gregory Edgeworth, who ended up shot to death in an elevator."

"Yes, that was one of Phoenix Wright's cases," Apollo observed.

"Then you know it was Manfred von Karma," Petro replied. "And you also know von Karma arranged for the death of at least one other defense attorney. Doesn't take much to see a pattern there. The evil lawyers kill or discredit anyone who threatens their supremacy."

"But von Karma is long dead," Apollo argued.

"Dead, yes, but can you really say he's gone?" Petro sipped his coffee. "My advice to you, Apollo. Either become evil or learn to sleep with one eye open."

"Nothing bad is going to happen to Apollo," I said. "I won't let it!"

"I just realized something, Petro," Apollo said. He smirked. "You say lawyers are evil, but aren't you going to be a geophysicist? You'll be working for an oil company. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!"

Petro flushed. "All right, I'll stop. Don't want to be a hypocrite, after all."

"Never knew you were a fan of Phoenix Wright," Apollo said.

"Well, um…" Petro was trying to pour himself a fresh cup of coffee, but spilled it. He winced and grabbed some napkins and tried to mop up the spill. His hand bumped against the creamer, which wobbled precariously, but did not topple. "There's a…reason for that."

"Your face is all red," I commented.

"It is," Apollo cried. "Putting my shirt to shame." He brushed the crumbs off his vermillion polo.

"Ngh," Petro said. "Er…how was the movie last night?"

"You're so obviously changing the subject," I said. "How was the lecture you went to instead of the movie?"

Petro's face returned to his normal color, and his eyes lit up. "You should have been there!" And that little voice in the back of my mind echoed: _Yeah, he's your father, and you should have been there for support. This was only the thing he's been working on for twenty-five years… _

Apollo must have noticed my discomfort, because he patted my shoulder.

"Clay, your dad is so amazing!" Petro was beaming. I'm sure my face looked like that when I met Solomon Starbuck for the first time. "I started to cry! It was that good! He has this sixth sense for earthquakes that is uncanny!"

He's right about that. It frightened me the first time I witnessed it firsthand. How his face got all serious and he said tonelessly, "An earthquake is coming. I can feel it." (Give me a break. I was five.)

I wanted to ask, "Want to switch fathers?" Jokingly. But I just couldn't say it. Because I'd be too tempted to add: _He'd be happy you want to follow in his footsteps. Because he can't fathom why his only son wants to go into space and leave the planet he's devoted his whole life to studying._

_You know that isn't the real reason, _my conscience screamed at me_. He hasn't trusted fast-moving vehicles since your mom's accident…and what moves faster than a rocket ship? He can't protect you out there, and it would kill him to lose you too. _

"I'm so stuffed," Apollo said. He used one hand to stifle a burp.

"Good," I said. "Then you won't get hungry later."

Apollo nodded furiously in agreement. After all, he was there last week when my dad somehow produced a stockpot of unidentifiable gelatinous green…gunk. And no, he wasn't trying to make gelatin. He was trying to make _soup_. I love him, but he just won't give up. Even when he's out of his depth, like cooking. He once tried to make my mom's specialty pineapple upside-down cake for my birthday. The fire department was not pleased.

Of course, I won't tell Petro about that. Can't destroy his image of his beloved idol.

I've never met Petro's parents. He lives in a tiny, overpriced apartment just off campus. Apollo still lives with his adoptive parents, the Justices. Dr. Justice is a philosophy professor at Besseldorf, just like my dad is a geology professor there. That's why Apollo and I enrolled there. We got our tuition free.

Anyway, Dr. Justice is nice, even if he's a bit…button-down. Okay, more than a bit. He's been nothing but supportive to Apollo and his dream of becoming a great lawyer.

And of course, my father wants me to pursue my dream, even if it scares him. Besides, he studies earthquakes for a living. I'm not necessarily safe here on Earth. I know he'll understand that, even if he doesn't admit it outright.

The all-nighter we're about to pull won't be fun, but it will be worth it in the end. At the end, we'll be a geophysicist, a lawyer, and an astronaut. Because those are the paths we have chosen.

The End


	2. Like Mother, Like Daughter

Title: Like Mother, Like Daughter

Rating: K+

Characters: Metis and Athena Cykes, Simon and Aura Blackquill

Spoilers: Dual Destinies

Time: Some point before the UR-1 incident 

"Damn it, Metis!" Aura sighed. "I told you to put taps on your zori."

"I forgot," Metis said. She was sitting at the base of the wooden ladder she had just tried to use. "Ow," she said upon trying to get to her feet.

"You might have broken something," Aura said, looking pointedly at Metis' already swollen and completely ecchymotic left ankle. Aura kneeled down. "Get on my back."

"I could just use your shoulder," Metis replied.

"Nope. You disregarded my advice once today and look where it got you," Aura said. "We're going to the Imaging Lab to get your foot X-rayed. If there's a fracture, you're going to the ER." Working in a state of the art research facility did have its advantages.

Metis shrugged, but complied with Aura's request. "Sure you can carry me?"

"You're not heavy at all," Aura snapped. "I'm stronger than I look, you know." She kicked open the records room door and started down the hall. "You do carry the rest of us, so let someone return the favor."

"You could let one of the robots carry me," Metis countered.

"The edges of bone fragments are sharp and can slide around. I don't think they're quite up to keeping your foot still. You are keeping it still, aren't you?"

"As still as I can," Metis said.

Someone turned the corner and stopped in front of them. It was Aura's brother, Simon. Metis' young daughter, Athena, was riding on his back.

"Look, Simon," Athena said. "Mama's getting a piggyback ride too!"

"Metis slipped on a ladder," Aura explained. "What's your excuse? That you're just whipped?"

"This one scraped her knee playing," Simon answered. "I'm looking for some alcohol and cotton to clean the injury. I suppose clumsiness really is genetic."

"Hey!" Metis and Athena snapped in unison.


	3. The First Day

Title: The First Day

Rating: K+

Characters: Clay Terran, Solomon Starbuck, Aura Blackquill

Spoilers? Dual Destinies

Time: Two or three years before Dual Destinies. It's my headcanon that Clay got a bachelor's in astronomy before being hired at the Space Center. Therefore, this mini takes place after "The Paths We Chose."

"It's finally sinking in," Clay Terran said, looking at the mail slot with the name tag _C. Terran. _"I belong here. I _work _here."

"You look like a kid in a candy store," Solomon Starbuck said.

"I feel like one," Clay said, beaming. "And we've barely begun!"

"As I was saying," Starbuck said. "This is where you'll pick up your mail." He checked his own mail slot. "Hmm. Milly's running late."

The door to the mail room opened. A petite woman, dressed in a light gray suit, entered. Her face was blocked by the huge stack of packages and letters she was carrying in. "Sorry, sorry! Miss Blackquill wanted her mail first thing in the morning! And you know how she is!" The woman dumped the stack of mail on a nearby table. She turned to Clay and Starbuck. "Yipe!"

Clay looked at her. "Milly Pede?"

Milly looked back at him. It took her thirty seconds, but she finally replied. "…Clay Terran?!"

"What are you doing here?!" They asked in unison.

"You two know each other?" Starbuck asked.

"We went to high school together," Clay explained. "She was actually Apollo's prom date."

Milly flushed. "I'd much rather forget that. How his father kept making him present my corsage over and over because he didn't do it 'right.' And how Apollo wasn't allowed to hold my hand, even though I was wearing gloves! What did he think? That I was going to contaminate his son?! That was not fun. I have an excellent idea. Let's change the subject. Why are you here?"

"I just got hired," Clay said. "Space Exploration Department. Today's my first day."

"I see," Milly said. "I'm the sole member of the Shipping and Receiving Department, and I handle all the mail. Including all the interdepartmental mail. Word of warning, the people here are absolutely passive-aggressive, so expect to get interdepartmental bulletins from anyone not in Space Exploration…"

"PEDE!" A feminine but brusque voice echoed from the hall outside. An imposing woman clad in a futuristic white leather bodysuit and pink tights stormed in. Her lavender hair was styled in two conical buns pinned to the back of her head. She wore a pair of translucent blue goggles, which were doing nothing to reduce her glare. "You gave me the wrong memos from Cosmos! Again! What is it? Fifth time this month!" She threw a pile of envelopes at Milly's feet. "Idiot!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Blackquill," Milly said, getting on her knees to pick up the tossed mail. She looked like she was groveling before the older woman. "Director Cosmos' handwriting is hard to read!"

"I'll grant you that. I can't tell if the man is writing in code, or just can't write!" The woman laughed and smacked the table, making the pile of mail bounce comically. She turned to Starbuck and Clay. "Starbuck, you've got something stuck on your shoe. Oh, it's just the new hire. Admit it, Terran. You were pretty much a fixture here anyway."

"Ah, you remember him, Aura?" Starbuck asked.

"I never forget a face," Aura replied. "Or terminal bedhead. Though you seem to be missing something. Where's your other half?"

"Busy, about to become the greatest lawyer in the city, so it's just me for now," Clay replied. He stuck his hand out. "Glad to be on board here."

Aura looked hesitant, but shook Clay's hand politely. "Tone down the nauseating enthusiasm, and I think we'll get along fine."

"Sorry," Clay said. "I'm just so excited. Weren't you? When you first started?"

"Yes, but that was a long time ago," Aura replied. "I got older. Starbuck can tell you more. About how dreams fade and disappointment sets in."

Starbuck jumped as if startled, but said nothing.

"Yay!" Milly had been digging through the stack of envelopes while the others were talking. She held out a few to Aura triumphantly. "I found them! I hope."

Aura tore them open and examined the contents. "Yes, these are the right ones. Hate to leave this welcoming committee, but the robotics technicians upstairs are absolutely hopeless without me. Good luck, newbie. You'll need it." She turned on her heel and walked off.

"Phew," Milly said. "She was in a _good_ mood today! Oh, Clay, another piece of advice. Don't set 'Rocket Man' as your ringtone. Whenever a cell rings in Space Exploration, everyone checks their phones."

"You have to admit it is pretty funny to watch," Starbuck said. "I have Carole King's 'Spaceship Races' myself."

"My dad the earthquake expert has 'I Feel the Earth Move,'" Clay replied.

"That wins," Starbuck said simply.

The End

Author's Note: Yay, Starbuck! Even if he was pretty much the straight man to bitter and angry Aura, ditzy one-shot OC, and bubbly Clay.


	4. A Bedtime Story

Title: A Bedtime Story

Rating: K+

Characters: Aura and Simon Blackquill

Spoilers: Dual Destinies (very minor)

Time: Twenty three years before Dual Destinies. Simon is five and Aura is fourteen.

XXX

A young Aura Blackquill was in her bedroom, poring over some brochures for colleges.

There was a knock on her door.

"It's open," Aura replied absently.

"Aura, my bright star…" Aura's visitor said sweetly.

"Father?" Aura looked up from the spread of brochures on her desk. "What do you want?"

Aurelius Blackquill looked at her pleadingly. "Can you read your brother a bedtime story?"

"WHAT?!"

"I tried reading him one, but he said I was doing it wrong. I think he wants to hear a feminine voice."

"Couldn't you call Mom?" Aura's mother was currently at some sort of symposium. "She's got a laptop. She could read him a story from the internet over the phone."

"Her conference is three time zones away. She's in bed by now."

Aura groaned. "Can't he go to bed without a story?"

"All right, you tell him. I'm still nursing scratches from Yeats."

Yeats was a merlin that their mother had given Simon as a gift for his fifth birthday a month before. That bird had warmed up to Simon a little too much. It was cute to see that glorified feather duster defend his master with the ferocity of a bulldog, if saccharine.

Aura yanked one of her conical buns in frustration. "I ought to build a robot replica of Mom. Have her pre-record bedtime stories, and have the robot play the recordings."

"…That sounds a little extreme," Aurelius said.

"Think about it, Father," Aura said cheerfully. "Pre-recorded children's stories in robots. The marketing possibilities are endless: libraries, schools…"

"Didn't you say something similar about the robot dinosaurs for museums? More interactive and educational than fiberglass models and fossils?"

"What of it, Father?"

"The Smithsonian hung up on you, didn't they?"

"They just didn't comprehend the practicality of it." Aura shook her head. "Let's just get this over with."

XXX

"All right, Simon," Aura said, walking into her brother's darkened bedroom. "I'm going to read you a story, so get comfortable."

Simon was sitting at the edge of the bed, holding a book of short stories. He was wearing a pajama top and matching bottoms. The fabric had a print of black birds on a gray background. "Mama was reading to me from this book."

"So I just pick one to read? Sounds simple enough." Aura switched on the lamp so she could read. She took the book and opened it to the table of contents. After a quick look at the story titles, she settled on one. "How about this one? 'The Loyal Samurai'?"

"I haven't heard that one yet," he said.

Aura sat on the chair beside the nightstand and began to read:

"_Long ago, in a far away land, there lived a lord. He had seven loyal samurai to defend him. He loved all seven as though they were his sons, but loved one above all. The lord ruled his domain justly, and even the poor praised his name. _

_ The lord's wife had passed away long ago. And of the lord's many children, only one was still alive. A little girl, of seven years. _

_ However, the lord was worried, for he saw fire in the distance. There were rumors of a vicious warlord, who commanded a fierce and mighty army. The warlord left nothing but ruin in his wake. The lord knew his seven samurai would never stand a chance. And every day, the smoke in the distance appeared closer. _

_ So he met with his favorite samurai, and asked him for one favor. To take the lord's daughter through the nearby Mysterious Forest: "At the end of the forest is a plain, where there is a single cottage. Wait there for three days, and return with her." _

_ "My lord," the Samurai replied. "No one who has ever entered the Mysterious Forest and returned. To take her there would mean her death." _

_ The lord smiled sadly. "It is her only hope. If you truly trust me, you will do this. I can only hope it makes sense in the end." _

_ "I believe you," the Samurai said. "I shall not fail." _

_ So the Samurai set out with the lord's daughter. The forest was thick, and dark. The girl clutched his hand and sobbed. He wiped her tears with his handkerchief._

_ The brush was thick, so the Samurai laboriously sliced through it with his sword. _

_ The girl grew exhausted, so the Samurai carried her through the forest. _

_ Night fell. The Samurai pressed on. _

_ Finally, the forest ended just as the sun rose. There was a beautiful, calm, green plain. The Samurai, tired himself from his journey, saw the cottage his lord mentioned. He knocked on the door. _

_ A beautiful woman answered the door and happily welcomed the little girl and her protector. _

_ Three days passed uneventfully. The little girl helped the woman tend to her garden. The Samurai worried about his lord and brethren. _

_ "I must take my leave, though I am in your debt for your hospitality," the Samurai said to the woman. He and the girl left the house and ventured through the Mysterious Forest once more. This time, the forest was calm and tranquil. _

_ On the other side of the forest, the land was calm and tranquil. _

_ The samurai recognized his lord's castle, though it appeared to have been partially rebuilt. He approached the castle, and saw an old man._

_ The old man looked overjoyed. He called the Samurai by name. _

_ "Do I know you, sir?" the Samurai asked. _

_ The man explained. He was the Samurai's lord. Thirty years had gone by. With grave sadness, the lord explained that the remaining six samurai had defended the domain. They were dead, but the last one killed the evil warlord before succumbing to his own injuries. _

_ "How could thirty years pass in three days? How could the last samurai even reach the evil warlord?" _

_ "While you perceived it to be three days, it was in actuality thirty years," the lord explained. "The Mysterious Forest is a path to the domain of the gods, where for every day that passes there, ten years pass in our world. It was protected by demons. Your pure heart and resolve scared the demons. Because of that, the gods passed favor on your homeland. The enemy army was decimated by plagues and other disasters, and the six samurai slew the rest. Peace was achieved. But my wish was for my daughter to live a peaceful life, and for me to see her one last time before I died. She does not have to suffer through thirty long years of war and restoration. Thank you." And with that, the lord died. _

_ The young girl did not comprehend death, but she understood her father was lost forever, so she wept. The samurai comforted her. The End. _

Tears streamed down Simon's face and he sobbed loudly.

Aura lowered the book and set it on the nightstand. "What's the matter? Why are you crying?!"

"It's too sad! The Samurai never got to say goodbye to his friends, and he met his lord again just to watch him die! And now the girl's all alone because her siblings and parents are dead! Why couldn't the gods have helped the kingdom without that stupid test? Why did peace have to come at such a price?! I hate it!"

Aura sighed. _It was stupid of me to pick this story without reading it first. Just because Simon likes samurai stories._ "Simon?"

"What?" Simon asked, tears still streaming down his face.

"How about I give you twenty bucks not to tell Mom I made you cry?"

"You're bribing me, Aura?!"

Aura crossed her arms. "Would you rather I bribe you with a spanking?"

"No, but I'd like some ice cream in addition to the twenty dollars," Simon said with a smirk.

"You drive a hard bargain," Aura said. "But you've got a deal." She extended her hand, which Simon shook.

"Good night, Aura," Simon said.

"Pleasant dreams, Simon," Aura replied. "You earned it. Ever consider going into business when you grow up?"

"No way!" Simon laughed. "I'm going to be a samurai!"

The End

Author's Note: "The Loyal Samurai" was directly inspired by Wilhelm Grimm's "Dear Mili."

And yeah, Yeats was the precursor to Taka. I thought a merlin suited Simon as much as a hawk.

I know I seem to be focusing on the Blackquill siblings, but the next few sketches will have some different characters. Stay tuned, and I hope you enjoyed the piece.


	5. Jericho

Title: Jericho

Rating: K+

Characters: Manfred von Karma

Spoilers: Only original _Phoenix Wright, Ace Attorney_

Time: First section takes place in 1999, the final few paragraphs take place just after the DL-6 incident on December 28, 2001

Manfred's father, the great General Von Karma, had two sayings: "Leave nothing to chance" and "When your wife is pregnant, do what she says without hesitation or question."

The second saying was why Manfred found himself in a church on a Saturday afternoon, lighting a candle. It was a sweltering June day, and Manfred insisted on wearing his court attire – layers of thick wool and cashmere – everywhere. He was lighting a candle at the behest of his wife, who was pregnant with their second child.

Manfred was not superstitious. But arguing with his wife, as hormonal as she was, seemed counterproductive. He turned to leave, and then stopped.

Two men stood at the door. One he recognized. Amos Thompson, a defense attorney. Head of his own firm. He was svelte, with dark hair already graying. He was said to be only thirty six, but he looked much older owing to his sharp facial features. His skin had a rather disconcerting ashen tone to it. Thompson was dressed in a rather plain looking light blue suit and white shirt with gray tie ascot.

The man beside Thompson was short and rather pudgy. He had bright red hair, the shade described as 'plain carrot color.' He was dressed all in black and white, with a cheerful looking bowler hat atop his head.

The redhead waved and walked over, Thompson cautiously close behind. "Hallo! Mr. Von Karma, what brings you here? If you're off to confession, I'd suggest letting Father Mudd know you'll take a while." The man smirked. "I jest." He stuck out a hand. "Alastor French. I'll have the honor of being your opponent in court on Monday."

Manfred made no move to shake French's hand. French put his hand back down.

"Would you excuse us for a moment, Alastor?" Thompson said. "I'd like to speak to Mr. Von Karma. Alone."

French opened his mouth to speak and closed it quickly. "Sure." He returned to the door, casting a quick glance over his shoulder. Then he was out of sight.

"He's one of yours?" Manfred asked.

"My best," Thompson said.

"Why didn't you take the case?" Manfred inquired. "Why give it to your underling?"

"I have more faith in Alastor than in myself," Thompson replied. "I'm not a very good lawyer."

Manfred didn't know what to say to that. Thompson was considered something of a bogeyman to the other prosecutors. The only reason Manfred himself knew Thompson's name was due to Thompson's stellar record – thirteen years, no losses. The other defense attorneys were indistinguishable; multiple copies of the same dull mind.

_Is it because he only picks battles he can win? _Manfred smirked inwardly. "I seem to remember making another one of yours cry last week."

"Neil Down," Thompson said. "He was a Navy SEAL before he went to law school."

"Bah, should have put more thought into that career change," Manfred said. "He crumpled in ten minutes. Tell Mr. French to try to hold out longer. I savor a challenge. Don't you, Mr. Thompson?"

"There are limits," Thompson answered. "Honestly, I feel pushed to my limits every trial."

"Then why are you still a defense attorney?" Manfred asked.

"It's prosecutors like you who remind me every day why I can't quit," Thompson said, sadness evident in his voice.

"That the prosecutors of this city maintain a conviction rate of well over ninety percent?" Manfred asked dryly. "Most people would consider that a good thing."

"Sure, let's go with that," Thompson replied absently, looking away from Manfred, to a stained glass window. "Do you remember the stories? The ones you heard as a child?"

"There is one you're thinking of," Manfred said. "Out with it."

"Jericho. The city with impenetrable walls, until they crumbled. Right before the eyes of the citizens, just before they were killed. Every living creature perished, save for one family."

"What does this fairy tale have to do with anything?" Manfred asked. "Relevance, Thompson. You wouldn't make such a rookie mistake in court, so don't insult my intelligence."

"The people of Jericho thought they were invulnerable. Just as you think your record is unassailable. But just because your work doesn't have any clear weak points doesn't mean it can't crumble under the right conditions."

"Are you threatening me, Thompson?" Manfred asked dryly.

"I wouldn't joke about that," Thompson replied. "I just wanted to make absolutely certain we understand each other."

"I understand perfectly," Manfred answered. "You and every defense attorney in this city harbors resentment toward me because of my perfect record. To win a case against me is as futile as Sisyphus' attempts to get the boulder to stay on the hill. You're luckier than most, but we both know what would happen if you faced me in court. But I am not entirely displeased by the spirit you've shown tonight. On Monday, I will not just defeat your lapdog Mr. French. I will humiliate him. That will be your reward."

"So we shall see," Thompson said, bowing briskly. "Good night, von Karma."

Manfred's prophecy came true that Monday. French lost the case. He cried, just as Neil Down had before him.

As for Thompson's warning, in time, it was forgotten. Until the tragedy of December 2001, in which Manfred received a blemish on his record, a bullet to his shoulder, and blood on his hands.

The last was metaphorical, of course. Manfred knew enough to stand far enough from the prone Gregory Edgeworth to avoid getting splattered with blood.

That night, he sat in his study. Alone. He was wearing a brace and several layers of bandages. Luckily, his wife and two daughters were away visiting relatives for Christmas, so they were not around to ask questions.

Manfred tried to picture the shattered clavicle, where the bullet had penetrated. He was limited to his own imagination, as getting an X-ray was out of the question. All doctors had to report gunshot wounds, and there'd be no keeping this one from the press. And all the police would have to do is match the markings to the bullet recovered from Gregory Edgeworth's heart. That wouldn't be enough to convict him of murder, but it was enough to place him at the scene. And as long as there was another suspect, the hapless bailiff could claim reasonable doubt. No, the only course of action was to pretend the injury never happened.

Yet, he could not stop picturing how the bone fragments looked under the swelling and discoloration. He imagined a comminuted fracture, where the bone shatters into many pieces. Like pebbles from a wall.

Even if the wound healed completely, Manfred knew he might not get full range of motion back. His body had become flawed, like his blemished record.

The damage to his shoulder was just insult to injury, as what really angered Manfred was the penalty. Twenty five years of endless work ruined, a kunstwerk sundered, an era ended.

Like the broken walls of Jericho.


	6. A Gentleman Never Kisses And Tells

Title: A Gentleman Never Kisses and Tells

Rating: T for risqué humor

Characters: Apollo Justice, Clay Terran, Trucy Wright

Pairing: Apollo/Ema, Apollo and Clay platonic friendship (the latter is important)

Time: March 2027

It was a cool spring afternoon. My best friend and I both had the day off. And it was a tradition that if we were both free, we'd sit on the porch of Clay's house and relax. We'd sit on these antique looking rocking chairs, and sip lemonade. We had many discussion about our hopes and dreams on that porch.

"How was your trial yesterday?" Clay asked me.

I sighed. Even a good night's sleep had not eased my nerves. "It was a miserable, uphill battle."

"Your day was probably better than mine," Clay said.

"What? It was hard?" I knew astronaut training was brutal, but before today, I had never heard Clay complain about it. On the contrary, he had been bubbly and happy since being selected for the HAT-2 mission.

"Nah, just tedious. Some politicians were in town and we had to give them a presentation on how we're putting their tax dollars to good use." Clay yawned. "Space is fascinating, but the logistics of getting there is not. The engineers fielded most of their questions. I just had to stay awake."

"Did you?"

"Yes, but just barely. I had to sit behind Cosmos, and I almost drifted off, and then he turned around and hit the table hard to jolt me awake. And I've caught _him_ sleeping during sponsor meetings. He claims he's listening with his eyes closed, but I know better." Clay sighed. "The sad thing is he was a great astronaut in his youth. Before you and I were born. There's a reason the Space Center is named after him. Do me a favor, Apollo. If I ever retire from being an astronaut, and turn into a stodgy, pompous, half-senile bureaucrat, euthanize me."

"I doubt that will happen! Your passion will never die."

"I want to believe that, but…when people get older, something happens. Their passions dull. Don't you think Sol seems a bit different from when we were kids? I worry that the same thing might happen to him. That he gets tired of what he's doing and becomes bitter."

"Sol? He seems fine, but you know him better than me."

"Then again…" Clay mumbled the next part. "Might just be the PTSD talking…"

"PTSD?" I asked. "Sol has PTSD?"

"Gleep!" Clay jumped. "Just forget I said that. I shouldn't be talking about my coworker's problems…even if I am worried about him! Um, how was the trial itself? What sort of bizarre murder mystery did you have to solve? Don't leave anything out."

Clay loved murder mysteries only slightly less than he loved astronomy.

"Well, I can't go into too much detail," I said. "But I guess I can give you the Cliff's Notes version. The victim was Amos Thompson, age 64. A legendary defense attorney, with a perfect win record spanning forty one years. He was the head of the Thompson and French firm. The cause of death was hemorrhaging from ruptured internal organs. Body was found in his office, along with the murder weapon. A heavy lug wrench."

"Someone beat an old man to death in his own office?" Clay shuddered.

"Yeah, the autopsy photos were ugly," I commented. "My client was Thompson's junior partner, Alastor French. The police thought he did because it was his wrench and had his fingerprints. Also, he was distraught and agitated when he was being questioned. You see, Thompson was Mr. French's best friend. They had known each other since high school. They went to the same law school."

"Ah, so he wasn't in any state of mind to defend himself," Clay observed. "Can you really blame him, though? Please tell me he didn't see his friend dead."

"He did. He was the one to discover the body, and it was still warm. And the secretary walked in on him standing over the body, and she called the police."

"Ouch."

"Sad to say, my clients just happen to get caught standing near the body. My opponent this time was Miles Edgeworth, the Chief Prosecutor. It was exhilarating to be up against Mr. Wright's one true rival, but…"

"What?" Clay asked. "Haven't you read all the transcripts of Mr. Wright's trials?"

"Those transcripts didn't scratch the surface of how incredibly smug Miles Edgeworth is. It burned. I started wishing for Klavier Gavin back. Good thing Edgeworth won't be prosecuting many cases himself in the future. He only took this one because of a special interest."

"Oh, yeah? What?"

"Thompson and French were very good friends of his father, Gregory Edgeworth. He was a famous defense attorney who undoubtedly would have surpassed Thompson, had he lived. He died at the age of thirty five. The three of them were known in legal circles as the Three Musketeers. The three of them dreamed of a system where defense attorneys could peer review and ensure everyone is behaving ethically. That never got off the ground. Defense attorneys are…defensive when it comes to their client base and their work." I inwardly shuddered, recalling how my old mentor got Mr. Wright disbarred simply for being passed over.

"But if Mr. French was his dad's friend too, shouldn't he have believed in him?"

"He did. It's hard to explain, but he wanted me to do just what Mr. Wright did years ago. Determine the truth of what happened. Edgeworth presented the case, and I caught the weak spots in the case. Then the truth came to light."

"And what was the truth?"

"Who do you think killed Amos Thompson?" I asked.

"It wasn't his best friend," Clay thought. "And it happened in his office. Was there any sign of forced entry?"

"No."

"So he either let in the killer, or forgot to lock the door. Assuming his mind was still sharp, he trusted the killer. It had to be someone he knew. And that's possibly why the police thought it was Mr. French."

"It was one of Thompson's clients. A good defense attorney always trusts their client."

"How horrible. So I guess you got an acquittal for Mr. French."

"It was hard, but yes."

"Except Mr. Thompson is still dead, which sucks," Clay observed.

"Yes," I agreed. "But I taught Mr. French the magic words."

"'I'm fine'?"

"Yes, and you know what he said? That if I ever needed a consult, he'd help me. That a defense attorney can never be truly be alone, as long as that bond of trust is still there. That Thompson and even Gregory Edgeworth and all the other defense attorneys who have passed on have never truly left us as long as we keep protecting the rights of those who can't defend themselves."

"So I guess he really is fine, which is more than I can say for you. Apollo, if you won your case, why are you still agitated?"

I groaned. "I can't keep anything from you. You know my girlfriend Ema? We're going to dinner tomorrow."

"I've been wondering. Does Ema have a sister?"

"Yes, actually."

"Is that sister hot?"

"Let me put it this way. I looked at her for thirty seconds too long when I met her two weeks ago. Ema threw an entire family-sized bag of Snackoos at me. Said I was filthy."

"Older or younger?"

"Older."

"Ooh. I do love older women."

"I'd forget it if I were you. Not only is Lana Skye not your type, but the last time you and I tried to date sisters, we crashed and burned almost as horribly as Pan Am Flight 103. Besides, you're spending all your time training for your mission. Why do you want a girlfriend?"

"Well, you know how going to space is my dream? And I'm training for the HAT-2 launch in December?"

"Yes."

"I'll have already accomplished my dream by the time I'm twenty five, you know? What will come after that? I want to start a family. But all the women at the space center are too focused on their careers to even think about that. Or focused on someone else entirely." Clay sighed. "Your dream was to become a great lawyer, and you have to build a record to be reknowned. And that takes years, but you're fortunate enough to have a wonderful girl. Don't you think I envy that a little?"

"You wouldn't envy me if you knew how nervous I was. Tomorrow night, I want to kiss Ema for the first time, but…"

"But what?"

"I've never kissed a girl before. And I have no idea how to do it. And if I screw up the kiss, she'll throw Snackoos at me! Then tell all her coworkers I'm a loser who doesn't know how to kiss."

"You never tried kissing the back of your hand for practice? Or a poster?"

"Of course not! With the adoptive parents in the next room listening for me to do anything…unwholesome. The walls were paper-thin. And the whole time I lived with them, I never heard them having sex. Not. Even. Once."

"You're telling me that Dr. and Mrs. Justice never had sex? Ever?" Clay thought a moment. "I always did think they were weird, but I never thought they were that weird."

"You never wondered why they didn't have any kids of their own?"

"Well, I know now!" Clay laughed.

"Stop laughing! You were at our prom. How I wasn't even allowed to hold my date's hand! They said holding a girl's hand was improper before a certain amount of time passes in the relationship."

"And what amount of time is that?"

I sighed. "I don't remember. Milly dumped me right after, remember? By text message, no less. _Apollo Justice, consider yourself dumped. Don't call me. _Her exact words."

"All right, I'll help you. The most important thing to remember is that girls hate wet kissers. So swallow you move in. Brush her lips lightly."

"How long do I hold it?"

"As long as she wants. You have to gauge it."

"And if I guess wrong?"

"Slap to the face?"

"Or Snackoo shower, in Ema's case," I said glumly. "Maybe I should just forget it."

"If you weren't my best friend in the world, I wouldn't be suggesting this, but what if I gave you a demonstration?" Clay flushed pink.

I must have turned as red as my favorite clothes. "What?!"

"You know, show you how to do it?" Clay wrung his hands.

"You're not kissing me! No matter how educational it is!" I sat up. "I have my dignity."

Clay shrugged. "All right, then. A lot of good your dignity will do you if your girlfriend leaves you."

"What, you _want_ to teach me how to kiss?" I asked. "Is the microgravity training affecting your mind?"

"No, it's just that if you mess it up and if there was something I could have done to prevent that..."

"You're a good friend, but that's just a risk I'm willing to take."

Clay perked up. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" I asked.

"Like a tree branch creaking?"

"No. Don't change the subject."

Clay snickered. "You don't trust me to perform CPR if you needed it?"

"Of course I do. If I needed CPR, I'd be _dying_. And also unconscious and therefore beyond caring how awkward it is that a guy is kissing me. But then, if Ema left me, I'd feel like wanting to die. Not literally, but I'd be so depressed."

"Just close your eyes," Clay said.

"We never speak of this to anyone?" I said.

"Of course," Clay snapped. "That goes without saying."

I squeezed my eyes shut, and felt Clay's lips brush against mine. A very slight peck.

"That enough?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, face burning. "I think I can extrapolate from there. Thanks. No one else would have helped me like this."

"You owe me big for this. That's all I can say."

"Oh, you were angling for something." I punched Clay playfully in the shoulder. "All right, since you've lowered my chances of Ema thinking I'm a loser significantly, what is it?"

"Introduce me to Ema's hot sister."

"Were you not listening to me earlier?"

"Sure, but I'm still curious. What is she like?"

"Kind of stiff and aloof. But then, you've been chasing the cold, heartless vacuum of outer space since the day you were born, so maybe she's perfect for you."

There was a loud cracking sound. A bough from the oak at the edge of the yard snapped, depositing a young girl into a pile of raked leaves at the foot of the tree. A girl I knew very well, wearing her school uniform of green, blue, and black plaid skirt and green sweater vest.

"Isn't that your boss' daughter?" Clay asked incredulously.

"She is," I said. "Trucy, what are you doing here?"

Trucy blushed slightly. "Well, this is kind of embarrassing, but could you…" She smirked. "Kiss again? Maybe use tongue this time?" She held up her little purple digital camera. "I can probably get a better shot from here."

"You didn't answer my question!" I snapped.

"Fine," Trucy sighed. "I was working on my biology homework. We're supposed to photograph different types of plants. I was in the tree taking some close-ups of the acorns and leaves."

No tension on my bracelet. She was telling the truth.

"But then I saw you guys," Trucy continued. "I couldn't hear you, but I saw you move in to kiss and I snapped a great photo. I guess I didn't notice the branch weakening."

"Clay," I said, putting my fist in my open palm. "Let's show her a magic trick. We're going to make that photo disappear from her memory card!"

"You'll have to catch me first!" Trucy jumped to her feet and ran.

Damn, she's fast. And Wesley Stickler outran her? "Come back here, little missy!" I called, running after her.

Trucy shrieked playfully.

Author's Note: Yes, I do think Trucy would be a yaoi fangirl. And I'd love to have seen Apollo face off against Edgeworth. Edgeworth said in Dual Destinies Case 5 that he had been Chief Prosecutor for almost a year, which I guessed meant he got the job in January 2027.

And a bonus bit in script form:

_Edgeworth: While it is unorthodox for the Chief Prosecutor to stand at the bench, there is precedent. One of my predecessors prided herself on trying cases herself. And as you're aware, law is mostly precedent. _

_Apollo: Ah, so cross-examining birds is allowed now? There's precedent for that. You were there, as I recall. _

_Edgeworth: …Don't get cheeky. _


	7. You Can Do Magic

Title: You Can Do Magic

Rating: K+

Characters: Phoenix Wright, Apollo Justice, Trucy Wright, Klavier Gavin

Time: Right after _Apollo Justice, Ace Attorney_

Additional Note: "You Can Do Magic" belongs to Russ Ballard, the original songwriter.

Phoenix Wright was about to do some reading before going to bed when he heard music. Singing, to be precise. With guitar accompaniment:

"_I never believed in things I couldn't see, _

_I said if I can't feel it, then how could it be? _

_No, no magic could happen to me_

_Then I saw you, I couldn't believe it_

_You took my heart, I couldn't retrieve it_

_Said to myself, "What's it all about?" _

_Now I know there can be no doubt_

_You can do magic, you can have anything that you desire_

_Magic, and you know you're the one who can put out the fire…" _

"Apollo, what is going on?" Phoenix asked, going to the room Apollo rented from him at the Wright Anything Agency. Apollo had not yet retired to bed. Indeed, he hadn't even changed out of his red waistcoat and pants.

Apollo peeked out his window. "It appears to be Prosecutor Gavin. Serenading Trucy."

"I know that! But what's the meaning of it?"

"Can't you guess?" Apollo replied. "Never pegged Trucy as an America fan, though."

"Get him out of here!" Phoenix ordered. "Now!"

"Why me?" Apollo whined.

"Because I don't know how to get rid of him. At least, no approach that's legal."

Apollo whispered in his ear.

Phoenix smiled. "That sounds great! Let's go with that!"

Apollo and Phoenix tiptoed downstairs and out the back door.

Klavier, oblivious, kept singing while Trucy watched from her window. She was enthralled.

A spray of cold water came out of nowhere and struck Klavier from the side. He turned and saw Apollo, holding a thumb over a garden hose nozzle. "What the?"

"Mr. Wright's not amused," Apollo said, smirking. "So unless you want another spray, I'd suggest you pack up your guitar and hit the road."

"This wasn't his idea," Klavier said flatly. "I doubt Herr Wright would be so childish."

"It wasn't," Apollo answered sweetly. "I just wanted some free payback for all the times you called me Herr Forehead in the middle of a packed courtroom." He lifted his thumb and another burst of water hit Klavier. This time in the face.

Klavier sputtered. Water dripped down his face. "Very well. I know better than to stay where I'm not wanted." He waved. "I bid thee farewell, Fraulein."

"You should have tried to wipe the water off before trying to act all cool," Apollo muttered as Klavier got on his motorcycle and sped off. "Dumb glimmerous fop."

Phoenix joined Apollo just below Trucy's window after shutting off the water. "Mission accomplished."

Apollo took out his red cell phone and began composing a text to Ema, hoping she'd find the night's incident amusing.

Trucy leaned out the open window, looking rather upset. "Why, Daddy? Why'd you ruin my personal concert?!" She had a teddy bear in her hand and threw it at Phoenix.

Phoenix sighed.


	8. Three Days in the Life of Tyrell Badd

Title: Three Days in the Life of Tyrell Badd

Rating: T (for major risqué humor)

Characters: Tyrell Badd (main)

Spoilers: Only for Ace Attorney Investigations: Miles Edgeworth. Spoiler free for GK2, as stated in the first chapter.

Time: See Author's Notes at end

It was a cool night in the fall of 2001. My partner, Byrne Faraday, and I entered Byrne's living room. We had a tough case ahead of us, though in the short time we had been partners, we had worked well together.

I walked into the living room and noticed something that hadn't been there last week. A huge cage. Large enough for two people to fit comfortably. The couch had been pushed to one side to accommodate the cage.

I stared at the thing. My jaw must have been open.

"Michaela bought it. To spice things up in the bedroom. She calls it our Faraday Cage." Byrne stated matter of factly before I even got the words out.

"Dear lord…!"

"So you can't help me move it upstairs this weekend? It's awfully heavy…" I don't know why Byrne does this to me, but no one else. He gave me that little smirk very few people got to see.

"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer!" I said.

Ten years later, I saw Kay on the day of her father's death. And when the shock of Byrne's death wore off, it was replaced by dread. Kay had the right to know of any…predilections she might have inherited from her good but slightly perverted parents. And who else knew she was conceived in a Faraday cage? How exactly could I explain that?

Damn it, Byrne. Why'd you leave me here?

XXX

Byrne was upset. This was unusual. He was currently hopping up and down, face red, speech about to turn a lovely shade of blue.

Detective Gumshoe, the object of my partner's wrath, stood there, head hung. Like a puppy who had been caught chewing his owner's favorite slippers.

I stood back. Being yelled at by lawyers is an unfortunate part of being a detective in this town. One that is conveniently left out of the job description. I could only hope Gumshoe wouldn't cry, and that he believed me when I'd tell him later that it could be worse. A lot worse. One of my fellow detectives, Jerry Riggs, quit on the spot. (That's actually the only reason Dick Gumshoe had been promoted…to fill the gap left by Riggs' untimely departure.) To be fair, it was Manfred the Monster who yelled at Riggs.

Besides me, my occasional business partner, Calisto Yew, held her cell phone. She was apparently using the built in video camera to record _Epic Chewing Out Starring Byrne Faraday_.

Then it happened.

Yew laughed, one of her full body laughs that made you wonder if she needed a staple gun for her sides. She dropped her phone, which clattered on the ground. She didn't seem to notice or care. "What an idiot!"

"Stop laughing," I said, rubbing my temples.

"I'm trying!" She replied. She laughed some more. I'm sure people were staring at her.

"You know what happens when you can't stop laughing?" I snapped. "One of these days you're going to die laughing!"

Ten years later, I picked up a newspaper and read that Calisto Yew aka Shihna Fang aka Tsu Mi and countless other aliases had died in a foreign prison. She burst out laughing at another inmate during lunch hour and choked to death.

A ham sandwich ended the life of an international spy, not a firing squad.

XXX

Agent Lang did not press charges on the gunshot wound. The precinct did not either. Which I should thank the stars for, since shooting an Interpol agent alone would have been a one-way ticket to Death Row. I was taking the chance that they'd overlook the fact that "Agent Shihna" was a multiple murderer and a spy, but Lang the idiot had to pull that chivalry bull.

I was still fired, of course. That was not in dispute.

Yet, I was somewhat grateful. My wife became the principal breadwinner. Actually, she was to begin with. Sad to say, a civil servant's salary isn't great. I became a stay-at-home dad. I was happy to spend more time with my then-fifteen-year old daughter. To go to PTA meetings, even though I was the oldest parent there. They assumed I was Saintley's grandpa, which I ignored.

On Saintley's sixteenth birthday, she gave me a note when I asked her for ideas of what to give her. _What I really want can't be bought in any store. When I wear it, I'll always be close to you. _

"I give up," I said to her once we had eaten some cake.

"If you won't give it to me, I'll just have to take it," she said, getting up. She opened the hall closet. On the back of the door, my old and worn coat was hanging. I had it dry cleaned after being fired, but hadn't worn it again since.

"You want my coat?!" I asked incredulously. "It isn't exactly high fashion. And you and I aren't exactly the same size."

She ignored me, which she tended to do when she got really excited. "How many lollipops can each pocket hold?"

"Thirty six," I said. "A whole economy-sized package of Chainsaws."

She touched the bullet holes gingerly. "Do you suppose there'll come a time when we won't be able to tell which ones are mine and which ones are yours?"

"I sincerely hope not," I replied.

Ten years later, Saintley passed the detective's examination with flying colors. I felt their judgmental stares at her promotion ceremony. I imagined the whispers: _Don't make eye contact with Tyrell Badd, the fallen and fired._ However, it could not match the conflicting feelings I felt for Saintley taking the same path I did. Wearing the same coat I wore to the end of my career.

XXX

Author's Note: I kept waiting for the "Faraday cage" joke in Ace Attorney Investigations, and it never came. At least not to my memory, and I made a habit of talking to every NPC and examining everything. I have not played GK2, so I have no way of knowing if they made the joke there. Byrne's wife and Kay's mama, Michaela, is a play on Michael Faraday, who invented the Faraday cage. Anyway, I decided to make my own joke, even if it turned out quite perverted.

Clarification on the dates: The first segment took place in 2001, three years before Kay's birth in 2004. She was seven in Case 4 of AAI, which took place on September 10, 2011. The second segment took place during the incident Yew briefly related in Case 4, where Byrne called Gumshoe a "nitwit" on the steps of the courthouse, which was in August 2011. The third takes place right after Case 5 of AAI, in March 2019.

And yes, Badd's lollipop brand is a reference to _Lollipop Chainsaw. _I figured a badass like Badd would have a badass favorite candy. What can sound more badass than lollipops called Chainsaws?

…This 'snapshot' was pretty much written all in one night.


	9. Don't Go Breaking My Sister's Heart

Title: Don't Go Breaking My Sister's Heart

Rating: K

Characters: Simon and Aura Blackquill

Time: Sometime in 2013. Simon is 14, Aura is 23.

The graduate students milling about were too wrapped up in their own problems to notice Simon, let alone ask why a teenager in a burgundy school uniform is prowling their halls. Even if that teenager had a katana in a scabbard at his waist, and a determined scowl on his face.

Simon checked the directory. Nova, C, office 503. He counted down the plain doors. His leather oxfords tapped the ugly and faded linoleum floor of Ivy University's linguistic department building. He banged on the door of Office 503. "Cassie Nova! I know you're in here!"

The door opened. A tall, slim woman in a magenta suit and angular black glasses opened the door. She met Simon's glare. "Aura's little brother? Stefan?" Cassie gave that infuriating supercilious smirk. "Or was it Stu?"

"My name is Simon," Simon replied icily.

"Why are you here?"

"Here is what's going to happen. You're going to tell Aura it's over, and tell her the real reason you're dating her."

"I don't take orders from brats who don't know their place!"

Simon smirked. "I thought you might say that."

"I know that tone of voice," Cassie said calmly. "You're going to say 'or else.' Go ahead. Or else what? Do you have pictures of me kissing another woman?" She laughed. "Of course not! They don't exist!"

"When you came over yesterday, you left your briefcase in the foyer. I borrowed a few pages from your thesis draft, made a copy, and slipped it back in."

"All my research materials are over your head," Cassie said impatiently.

"Yes, but not over my mother's head," Simon said. "And she noticed something rather odd about the numbers."

"What about them?"

"My mother is a polyglot," Simon began. "Which means she knows multiple languages, but not many people know she's also well-versed in the language of mathematics. The language Galileo said God used to write the world. She did some crunching of the numbers, and she found something that didn't quite fit. Your numbers are too perfect. Your work is either an astronomically unlikely statistical anomaly, or your numbers have been doctored to support your thesis statement."

"You showed Dr. Stone my work?!" She finally started to look panicked.

_Just a little more. She'll hang herself if given enough rope. _

"I didn't give your name. My mother has no idea you exist. And there is no way she'd ever sign on you as a protégé. She doesn't like cowards. You have a choice here. Find another new advisor besides my mother, redo your thesis project honestly, and leave Aura. Or I present my findings to your academic dean."

"You would dare ruin my career?"

"You have no career to ruin. Someone who has gotten this far without perseverance and academic integrity has cheated, likely more than once. Are your two degrees as much of a sham as your love for my sister? Your high school diploma, even? I bet if someone scrutinized…"

"Stop it." Just like that, she sank to her knees. Her skin paled a few shades. "You win, Simon Blackquill. Yes, I only dated Aura so she'd introduce me to her – your – mother. Every linguistics student in the country wants to work with _the _Dr. Rosetta Stone! I'll do it. I'll break up with Aura. Just don't tell the dean…"

"Very well," Simon said. "But you better do it. I'll be watching."

XXX

That night, Simon knocked on his sister's door.

"Go away!" Aura snapped from within.

"Can I borrow fifty bucks?"

Aura opened the door. "Why don't you ask Daddy?"

Simon shoved his way past her. "I only said that so you'd open the door."

Aura was wearing an elegant party dress, her favorite gold necklace and matching gold earrings. Her hair was styled into her two signature conical twists, but wispy strands were coming out of them, as if she had been laying on her back on them. She had been crying, as her makeup was streaked. "I must warn you, I'm not in the mood."

"You got dumped." It was more a statement than a question.

"How'd you…" Aura frowned. "What did you do?!"

"Oh, I found out she's fudging her numbers in her thesis so far. I promised her I wouldn't tell her dean, but I didn't promise not to tell you. I can't forgive a person who takes advantage of someone else's feelings like that." Simon placed one hand on the hilt of his katana. "And if that person manipulates my sister, they're lucky to be alive."

"Your flair for the dramatic never ceases to astound me," Aura sighed and sat down at her vanity. "I got to the restaurant early, but she was there. And she told me that I was just a convenient way to get acquainted with Mother. That I was unworthy of her attention. I can still hear her: 'You're nothing like your genius mother, and if you were stupid enough to fall for me, that's your problem.'"

"She isn't worthy of you," Simon said simply. "A vicious creature that is beneath you and me."

"I'm not sure whether to thank you or slap you," Aura folded her arms. "Maybe I'll do both."

"You're a ray of sunshine, Aura," Simon replied. "And you really need to stop taking your anger out on other people."

"Oh, I don't intend to get mad," Aura said. She gave that mischievous little smile Simon had seen countless times in their childhood together. The one that usually prefaced things like her plucking his pet merlin, or hiding his favorite katana, or rearranging all the books in his bookshelf. "Not especially when I can get even. Hand me my laptop."

Simon picked up Aura's hot pink-cased laptop. It was decorated with shiny stickers of cartoonish robots that seemed to dance. "What do you intend to do?"

"Get ahold of Cassandra's academic advisor," Aura said. "Suggest he take her grants away, if not fire her."

"But I promised not to tell…"

Aura laughed. "You promised _you _wouldn't tell. You said nothing about me telling."

"…Point. Ever consider being a lawyer?"

"Nah, I rather like having a soul," Aura answered.


	10. Judge Not According to Appearance

Title: Judge Not According to Appearance

Rating: K+

Character: Simon Blackquill (main)

Spoilers: Dual Destinies

Time: Summer 2007

Aurelius Blackquill surveyed his quiet studio. His drafting table was loaded with a fresh sheet of paper, his jeweler's loupe was ready, his bookcase was immaculately alphabetized. The glass display case next to his desk displayed some pieces that served for inspiration: a large, uncut diamond along with some pieces by masters such as Cartier, Tiffany, and Faberge. Aurelius Blackquill was a jewelry designer by trade. The walls of the studio were covered in design sketches, as well as some colored photographs of Aurelius' previous work.

All signs pointed to creativity reigning supreme for the day. Which was the way Aurelius liked it.

Of course, something – or someone – had to disrupt the creative process. Such was sitcom logic, which ran the world as surely as the laws of physics.

The sturdy walnut door of the studio flew open, revealing Aurelius' eight year old son."Daddy, I'm bored!" A few of the nearby sketches fell off the wall and landed on the floor.

Aurelius got up from his drafting table. "Want to go see a movie?" He was on a deadline for his fall collection, but he could deal with that later. His son took priority – Simon had proved that eight years ago. As a baby, he could cry loud enough to wake up the entire building. And some people in the surrounding buildings.

"There aren't any Westerns playing. Or anything with a decent swordfight!"

_I've got to talk to Rosetta about letting him watch the complete works of Akira Kurosawa, _thought Aurelius. But lecturing his wife about appropriate content for their son would have to wait. "How about a book? I've got lots of stuff here that you might find interesting. Would you like something with pictures?"

Simon moved to the bookcase and looked at the extensive collection of books. Some of them were art books, filled with full-color illustrations of not just jewelry masterpieces, but sculpture, paintings, and architecture. There was some fiction; ranging from historical fiction to detective novels. There were references on gemstones, from almandine to zoisite. Simon took out one such encyclopedia on gemstones, opened it, and looked at the photograph plates disdainfully."Your line of work...it's worthless."

Aurelius started. "Worthless? What do you mean?"

"Mama's work is really important. She studies ancient languages. You just carve up fancy rocks and put them in baubles for rich people to wear. Gemstones are just rocks. You find them everywhere on the ground." Simon returned the book to the shelf.

"You do realize your maternal grandfather spent his life acquiring gemstones?" Aurelius gestured to the uncut diamond in the glass case near his desk, which stood in stark contrast to the polished jewels of the surrounding finished pieces. "He gave that one to your mom, who gave it to me as a wedding gift."

"Yes, I know," Simon replied. "It's the Venusian Diamond. Said to grant the owner's most fond wish. But that's just a story. Grandfather told me that none of his gems rivaled his true most prized possession. Mama."

Aurelius laughed softly. "Touche. Your mother is truly a gem of a person."

"So you see?" Simon asked. "Gemstones are dumb." He poked at some small uncut diamonds in a tray on Aurelius' desk. "These look like gravel."

"They're raw diamonds."

"Mama told me that diamonds were thought to be ice that didn't melt. Ice is cold. You can't touch it. It melts quickly. It's transient. Worthless."

"Did she tell you the root of the word diamond? The Greek word _a__d__á__mas_. Unbreakable. And that diamond is practically the only substance that ranks a 10 on the Mohs scale of hardness?"

"Yes, but all they are is carbon. Carbon's everywhere. I'm full of the stuff. Does that make me valuable?"

"You're worth more to me than gold," Aurelius said. "Does that count?"

Simon snorted. "Do you ever realize how cheesy you sound sometimes?"

"All right," Aurelius replied. "You are correct. Diamonds and graphite are both allotropes of carbon. The carbon atoms in a diamond would look the same as the ones in a piece of graphite, if you could see them. The difference is how they're arranged. The carbon atoms in a diamond are arranged in an extremely rigid cubic lattice. Graphite has a planar lattice. The layers slide easily over each other. Which is why it's used in pencil leads."

"Graphite doesn't look anything like diamond, I admit that," Simon answered. "But glass looks like diamond. And the prismatic color play of diamond can be mimicked with the right glass. And anyone could make pretty glass by melting sand. Aura even showed me how to do it. She was blowing some quartz glass for one of her projects."

"Yes," Aurelius said. "But at the molecular level, glass does not have a crystalline structure. It cools too quickly for that. It's amorphous. It may look pretty, but pales in comparison to diamond. Which, too, fades away. It just takes millions of years for them to do so. Don't tell DeBeers, though. That whole 'diamond is forever' thing seems to be working gangbusters for them."

Simon looked at the uncut diamonds again. "I'm curious about something."

"What?" Aurelius asked.

"How do you know how to cut each one? You can only cut once. And every cut you make is so precise."

"You have to look at them closely. Also, you have to see more than you're used to seeing."

"See more than I'm used to seeing?"

"Yes, it's an essential skill. Not just to an artist, but for anyone. To see beyond appearances. Seeing within an egg a bird, or a seed a plant. Please, if you learn nothing else from me, learn this: judge not according to appearance. Very few things are as they look on the surface."

XXX

Time: Shortly after _Dual Destinies _

Athena Cykes looked so out of place in the graveyard, with her vibrant colors. She was wearing her usual bright yellow suit-dress, white boots, and blue tie. Widget was in his usual place around her neck, displaying its default blue neutral (yet oddly happy) expression. Her hair, which could only be called carrot-colored, was in its long ponytail. Her gold moon-rock earring in the shape of a crescent moon dangled from her ear. An angel, truly an anachronism in this solemn place of shadows and ghosts. "Come on, Simon!"

"Hmph," Simon Blackquill huffed. Unlike Athena, he looked like he belonged in a graveyard. He was clad in his navy waistcoat and trousers, black boots, heavy black coat embroidered with his family crest, . "We need to talk about using my first name again!"

Athena pouted. "I promise to only call you Prosecutor Blackquill in court."

"Why are we here?" Blackquill complained.

"You promised we'd pay our respects!"

"But your mother isn't buried here!"

"Your parents, silly!" Athena held up her bouquet. White and black roses. "I thought these would be nice. Your mom was wearing black and white roses in her aigrette in that portrait. And those cool black and white feathers."

"She always had roses and white feathers in her hair," Blackquill commented. "She added black feathers after she was married. To announce to the world how proud she was to be Mrs. Blackquill."

"So your parents really loved each other?" Athena asked.

"My father loved his family more than life itself," Blackquill said. "And I know my mother felt the same. So yes, though it feels alien to associate my mother with such an abstract and romantic concept as _love_."

"She was probably like my mother," Athena said. "Didn't know how to be affectionate. Do you ever wish she was more affectionate?"

"My father showed me enough affection for both of them," Blackquill answered. "Why do you want to see my parents' graves? You never met my mother."

"There are a lot of people I'll never meet," Athena said. "Like...him. Bobby Fulbright. Do you think he'll be buried soon?"

The remains identified as Bobby Fulbright – the _real _Bobby Fulbright – were still in the city morgue, as part of the ongoing investigation against the Phantom.

"I don't know," Blackquill replied. "I suppose as soon as the remains and evidence are documented." He stopped at a path junction. The left fork led to the family plots, where the rest of the Blackquills (quite a few; the Blackquills were a long-standing family) were interred. The right fork led to the mausoleums. "Do you mind if we go right? There is someone I should visit."

"Who?" Athena asked.

"My grandfather. Roland Stone."

"Wasn't he a mob boss?" Athena asked. "I never connected him to your mother."

"She tried to distance herself from him and his reputation," Blackquill said, walking down the path.

Athena followed. "I guess Stone is a common enough name."

They reached the mausoleums. One of them was dedicated to the Stone family. Blackquill looked to the most recent one. Roland Stone, 1937-2009. _Requiescat in pace_. Rest in peace. His mother had chosen the inscription. She had a particular liking for Latin, as well as brevity. "He died when I was ten. I knew him as a kind man. Sometimes the people we love do bad things. We have no control over their actions. Only our own."

Athena was solemn. She was obviously thinking about Aura.

"Let us go," Blackquill said.

The walk to the Blackquill family plots was silent.

"Here," Blackquill said. Two stones, of whitest alabaster, with stark black letters. Very well-tended. The one on the left read: _Rosetta Stone __Blackquill__, __1967-2018. Beloved daughter, wife, mother, and teacher. May her light never fade. _The inscription was of Aurelius' choosing. Sweet, romantic, as were the roses carved along the margins of the stone.

Aurelius' stone was unadorned with pictures. Only text. _Aurelius Blackquill, 1969-2020. Tu fui ego eris._ Aura had picked out the inscription. It meant, "What you are, I was, what I am, you will be." Memento mori. A reminder of the inescapability of death. For what were the dead but those who lived and breathed? Typical her. Morbid. Abrasive.

_What would Aura have chosen for me? "Judge not according to appearance, but judge righteous judgment"? _Yes. That sounded right. A perfect fit for the grave of one falsely accused.

"Judge not according to appearance. Very few things are as they look on the surface." _Father's words_. _I've learned over and over how true they were, from the cases in court, my encounters with the Phantom, to the answers I still seek to this day. I should have repeated Father's advice to Aura. Perhaps she'll listen now. _


	11. Family Mottos

Family Mottos

Rating: K

Characters: Ensemble, Dual Destinies cast

Spoilers: Dual Destinies, and knowledge of Apollo Justice, Ace Attorney is recommended.

Time: Right after _Dual Destinies. _Or rather, after the final trial but before the epilogue.

Brief note here: I guess this little piece does tie in beautifully with _Dai Gyakuten Saiban: Naruhodou Ryuunosuke no Bouken_. Since Phoenix/Naruhodou's ancestor became a defense attorney. After learning there's a case based on my favorite Sherlock Holmes story, I've wanted to play. Anyway, without further ado: 

Phoenix Wright here. It was a cool, beautiful night.

We – myself, Apollo Justice, Athena Cykes, as well as Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth and Simon Blackquill and my daughter Trucy – had gathered at Eldoon's Noodles to have a celebratory bowl of noodles. On our way out of the courtroom, we had run into Klavier Gavin. Athena asked him to come with us, and he accepted.

And for the record, Klavier said, "Looking good, Herr Forehead! I can't even tell you were injured in a bombing and bludgeoned on the head with a rock!" Apollo turned almost as red as his vest.

Why am I telling you? Because it's hilarious. Almost as hilarious as Blackquill's expression on the first swallow of Eldoon's noodles. He immediately declared it worse than his seven years' worth of prison food. Combined.

Why didn't I take a picture of him post-swallow? Because Simon Blackquill is utterly terrifying, and you can quote me on that. I proved he didn't run anyone through seven years ago. I didn't prove he's not capable of it. There's a difference, and I don't want to test him.

After we finished eating, we decided to relax and unwind in People Park before going our separate ways. And chat about the trial.

"So how did you seize upon the idea to look for emotions in the recording of the Phantom's voice?" Edgeworth asked Blackquill.

"It is completely unprecedented, but I felt any chance of identification was better than nothing," Blackquill replied. "My father used to tell me to live up to our family's motto._ Poros_, or creative ingenuity. To come up with new innovations. New ways of solving problems. That was also how I hit upon using psychology as an advantage in the courtroom."

_Sometimes I think if there is a god, He's got a weird sense of humor. Poros is the name of a mythological son of the titaness Metis. Whom Metis Cykes was named for. Wait...Greek myth..._

"Isn't that a Greek word?" I asked. "Aren't most family mottos in Latin?" I gave an embarrassed laugh. "I've totally forgotten almost all the Latin I learned in college and law school."

"You call yourself a lawyer?" Blackquill derided.

"The Cykes family motto's in Latin," Athena piped up, to my relief. "It's _Lux mentis, lux orbis._ Light of the mind, light of the world. Don't you think that's fitting? Why don't we all share our family's mottos?" She looked to her right. "Prosecutor Gavin, ego te provoco! I provoke you!"

Klavier grimaced. "The Gavin family motto is _N__emo me impune lacessit._" He raised his can of soda and chugged faster than it takes Maggey Byrde to break or lose her glasses.

Apollo visibly winced.

"No one offends me and gets away with it?" Athena asked.

I felt my face wince almost as badly as it does in court.

"All right, there's something I'm missing here," Athena said.

"I have an excellent idea," Apollo interrupted. "Let's move on. Who wants to go next?"

Edgeworth cleared his throat. "The Edgeworth family motto is _Bono malum superate_. To overcome evil with good. My father told me long ago." Yup, definitely sounds like the late Gregory Edgeworth. Whom I never met, sadly.

"My adoptive family's motto is _Ignis aurum probat_," Apollo added. "Fire tests gold." Odd. I would have guessed something about justice. Apollo's adoptive dad is a college professor who teaches ethics at Besseldorf College. Which is the rival of my alma mater, Ivy University.

"I don't know what the Gramarye family motto is," Trucy shared. "But my other daddy's family, the Enigmars, had _Video et taceo_, or 'I see and keep silent.'"

"My daughter knows more Latin than me?" I asked. Stone the crows.

"That just leaves you, Wright," Edgeworth said. "What's your family's motto?"

I shrugged. "I forget the exact Latin, but it translates to 'flee not when the tide is at its highest, for it's just about to turn.'"

Everyone looked at me pointedly. "…"

"What?" I asked.


End file.
